


Online Dating

by enoughiamagod



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AHAHAHA, And poor John, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Online Dating, Online Romance, based off the trailer, crackfic, sherlock is baaaack, this is all crack, what the heck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:25:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enoughiamagod/pseuds/enoughiamagod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thinks he's found the perfect girl on his online dating website.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Online Dating

**Author's Note:**

> oh god i'm so sorry. 
> 
> don't own.

John never thought he’d be one to try online dating. But he’d done it all the same, as a lark, maybe six months ago, when Lestrade had dropped by and started dropping hints about maybe seeing someone professionally, if he knew what Lestrade meant.

“You just seem so..well you never talk, or come out for a pint, and you know, Mary didn’t work out and I’m sorry, but that was ages ago, are you sure you’re all right?”

“Fine. Just fine,” John had insisted, then quickly made up an excuse about shopping or something, and managed to usher Lestrade out before he could start suggesting they have a feelings circle or something. But then he thought about it, and decided Lestrade was right. It had been awhile, and he was a little out of practice, and there wasn’t very many places to go to meet women, anyway and that had prompted it. John filled out the little questionaire, uploaded an image, and waited.

The first message he received was three weeks ago. He’d forgotten about the site, and when the email pinged up, he almost deleted it, thinking it was spam. He remembered, just in time, and opened the message.

“Hi, John,” it read. “You seem interesting. Ex army doctor, ran around with Sherlock Holmes. Bet you have a few stories to tell.” No picture. He paused for a moment, debating with himself. _What the hell, might as well_ , he decided. Selecting reply, he began to type.

“Hello, there. I’m afraid I’m not that interesting, to tell you the truth. Yes, I was an army doctor, and yes, my best mate was Sherlock Holmes...” He’d sent the message, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation that he was making a terrible mistake. When he received an answering ping, his heart tightened. _Do I keep this up?_ He opened the answering message. It was light-hearted and funny, and flattering, and John smiled. _Oh, hell, why not?_

That was three weeks ago, and since then they’d been talking non-stop, about everything. Family (she grew up in a posh house, older brother who didn’t understand her, distant mother, dead father), friends (she didn’t have many, preferring to do her own thing), likes (everything John liked, really this girl was perfect), dislikes. She was perfect. Except for one thing. She wouldn’t send a picture. When John pressed her, she merely answered that she was camera shy, and in fact didn’t have any photographs of herself. She thought she looked ugly.

“I bet you look beautiful,” John replied, because it was true. He bet that she was beautiful. Maybe not model pretty, but leggy, and tall, and slender (she’d described herself as such), with curly dark locks, and John had actually groaned aloud when she’d told him that. That was embarrassing, but since no one knew, John supposed that was okay. It went so well, in fact, that John proposed a date. She hadn’t seemed too keen on that, but he had insisted, smoothly, until she gave in. They set a date, and time, and John couldn’t stop the grin from sliding over his face.

 _They didn’t call me Three Continent Watson for nothing_.

He had debated shaving his moustache (Lestrade had bet that John couldn’t grow a porn ‘stache, and John had laughed, laid ten bucks down, and taken the bet) but decided to keep it. It made him look interesting, he thought, like a cross between a fifties porn star and a cop in an eighties tv show, and most definitely not boring. He was rather proud of it, actually. He’d put on his best suit, shined his shoes (old military habits die hard), and left for the resturant. Where he is now. Waiting. She’s late, slightly, and the military man in John shifts restlessly. He thinks about her, wonders what she’s wearing (purple, he decides, a clinging yet short purple dress, sort of flowy), and looks around. He takes a sip of his wine. Footsteps approach, yet John doesn’t look up yet. He likes the anticipation, likes the feeling right before seeing a beautiful woman that he’ll take back to his place...

 

_“Sherlock?”_


End file.
